Merciful Dreams Side Stories
by Peacebunnie
Summary: Extra writings to compliment the main 'Merciful Dreams' story. Here we visit other points of view.
1. All That I've Done Wrong

January, 1864

Today was difficult for Himura.

I should explain.

After his first kill and the next few assignments as well, he showed no signs of his actions. Perhaps he became a little quieter, but he is so quiet generally it is hard to tell. His actions before and after, however, indicated the polite and well-mannered, balanced child who had never killed.

It was eventually noted by his comrades that he disappeared after the assassinations, though no one knew where to. Iizuka started to watch Himura, and one evening followed him into the kitchen when he did not leave.

He was huddled in a corner, crammed to the side of a cupboard and curled around his sword. He was trembling violently, and didn't respond to or acknowledge any of us. Our doctor gave him sedatives, enough to bring down a man twice his size, before his trembling eased. He fell asleep shortly thereafter, and we didn't find him in such a state for a long while. He took to spinning the toy top he keeps with him most days, instead.

I asked Takasugi about him, before we left the Kiheitai. He said the boy had unparalleled skill, and told me that I would be ruining his life if I made him hitokiri. He knew very well why I was making my choices; I suppose he wanted me to know just what I would destroy, and went on to tell me all his observations of Himura. I think of these now, as I watch the boy.

I have ruined him. I feel I would give anything for something to help this boy, because even though I knew what I was doing when I asked this of him it is worse than I thought. He truly is destroying himself for us, in a manner different from his predecessors. They destroyed their humanity. Himura destroys his heart and soul.

I have begun to pray for him, every night, in hopes that he will last through this war. The other men of our side are just that - men - they are friends, comrades, people we dislike but agree with. They will have lived before their deaths, should that occur, but Himura is a child, who now is on his way to an existence worse than death.

But he is saving us, bringing a peace to those around him, and I cannot ask him to cease.

He has again taken to finding a corner to hide in, after fervently cleaning his hands for long periods of time. A new habit.

I have coaxed him from a corner this evening, and convinced him to eat something with me. In hopes that he would get some rest, I had him lie down.

The boy sleeps now, head pillowed against my leg, hands clenched around his sword. He does not rest.

* * *

(Originally posted fourth)

This side fic is dedicated to lolo popoki, my lone, dedicated reviewer. I would check my e-mail at the end of the day, and there would be my one review-mail. Lolo, I love you, and I owe you an apology. I started reading your 'Only the Beginning' about one chapter before I finally reviewed - of course, the delay was because I was still going around like (speechless awe), but still, you might have liked to know that. So there you go. I was much the same for 'Frigid Waters', and repetitive reviews must be annoying, so ... ahahaha.


	2. Lethal Stealth

There's something different about the boy.

He grasps his lessons quicker, now. He has always been a genius mimic; but this is beyond his capacity. Were it not for certain betraying characteristics, I would believe him to be another man. But he is not.

There's something different about his determination.

His drive to fight in this war, to protect the common people, to end it so that the suffering stops, is still there. But it is somehow aside; second to some other determination.

I do not like unknowns. He has given no sign he is disloyal, and I do not know the cause of his change; he is greatly puzzling.

He is clever; he does not mince words. I prefer such. That has not changed, in myself or him.

There's something different about his eyes.

They change. Not just with killing ki, the golden gaze of death, but they fluctuate with his moods. From light lavender when he is lost in thought, to dark violet when he is focusing his entire being; to the blue of that scarf in the window of the clothing shop three doors and five streets away from the second contact I frequent every tenth information sweeping pattern.

That is the color of even fury, when his emotions are both sealed away and seething on the surface. A warrior going to battle. That is the color common as of late, as his true feelings dissolve slowly and his wild, tangled and angered focus narrows with intent on his victims. A standard man, knowing some of the rumors concerning him, might assume his eyes to be most often the amber-gold associated with mad murderers. Rarely are they such.

In the reports I have gathered about his assignments and behavior, "yellow eyes" are mentioned only in cases where his target was publicly known to be extraordinarily cruel. Three times in the last six months has proven sufficient to terrify the men stationed with him at the inn.

He is the only killer genuinely working for the good of the people; the others want only their pay, their right - the blood of others on their blade. I have no particular like of the boy, though he shows promise of retaining sanity. Should he be able to recall his extraneous emotions, he will.

His emotions drove him to fight, and now they drive him to self-imposed exile among his peers. He performs his assignments without a trace of regret, then tortures himself. He is unusual.

There is something about that boy.

* * *

(Originally posted second - wait a minute...)

Knowledge time! Suterusu, according to a site I cannot relocate (gah! bad me), is a noun meaning stealth. So, it seemed like the perfect name for disappearing uber-ninja. To me, it's kinda like yelling "Hey stealth-thing!" every time I address him, but it amuses me.


	3. The Umbrella

One step, another, another. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left, remember to breathe ...

Tomoe plodded along the streets, near the edges of the midday crowd, not quite apart from it, the sound of her sandals adding to the noise of the day life. As she wandered through the maze of bodies, lost in thought, those who saw her eyes quickly turned away. There was too much of their own loss and confusion to deal with, in this city of blood; worry for someone unknown was an unneeded burden on their already wearied shoulders.

Absently she tried to concentrate, her mind wandering as much as her steps as she considered the red-haired man she'd met the night before. He didn't seem to be a crazy, blood thirsty killer, though he hadn't hesitated in the slightest to rip the large man apart, spreading his blood and intestines across the street, and now she was here, with knowledge of his location, in what seemed a tailor made position to get close, she would have to stay nearby, she would have to -

Rational calm was failing. Her thoughts were blowing about like clouds in a storm, thrown violently every which way by the raging force. Pick up foot, put it down.

She was almost there, now. Those men would have ... would have ... to her ... and that murderer, he ...

Stopping, she looked up at the sign and stared. She had been frequenting this location of late, staying long and drinking much. She'd spent a lot of time and money here, and never once had expected to meet the hitokiri here, or any time soon, for all her late walks to her inn in the dark (hitokiri only operated in the night, after all; didn't everyone know that?).

The restaurant (bar, really; they served nothing but simple food in addition to their main sales - anything alcoholic) looked dusty in the daylight, nothing special, barely just open for the day's afternoon customers and now somehow foreboding.

Entering the now-disconcerting restaurant, Tomoe shoved thoughts aside. She mentally re-ran her priorities: get the umbrella, go to the inn where she'd been staying, retrieve her things, take them to ... her new location.

She turned right to the counter and approached. Softly, she inquired after her umbrella. She had abandoned it in her mad run out the door into a murderer's arms, after all. Odd, that someone known to kill so swiftly and without remorse had helped her in some small way.

Unnerved by her distant eyes, the serving man disappeared into the back, and returned with her umbrella. He handed it over to her. Nervous, remorseful and barely able to meet her gaze, it was obvious he recognized her from the night before. "Hey lady, are you alright?" He manged to stutter out.

Tomoe tried to focus. "A patriot saved me," she told him, dazed. Hugging her umbrella, she turned and left the establishment.

* * *

(Originally posted first)

Consider these pretty words your disclaimer (in haiku form, no less): RK is not mine / I make no money off this / And I never will


	4. Observations

She had asked Okami his name.

"Kenshin," she had said. "His name is Kenshin."

Heart of the sword. Reflecting his talent, the name was apt. But to his person, she was unsure. He seemed emotionless, cold at most times; then he would look unbalanced in the moments his emotions did show, expressions crossing his face faster than her eye could follow.

She needed to know what he was. To study him, to betray, to kill; Akira had to be avenged. So she studied.

He was an enigma. He was a man that was cold and ruthless; he seemed to be a child that hated to kill. He was helpful to Okami; he was gone all day, doing who knows what. He was annoying. He needed help.

Which was why she tried to distract him when his expression showed he would only dream of blood. He looked at her, calmly, but his eyes were bright as he said, "Yes?"

Never mind, he was fine. Perfectly fine with blood. She scowled and threw the blankets over her head, ignoring him.

But then he clearly wasn't fine. He even said he wasn't.

He also said he wasn't a bloodthirsty killer, and by now she agreed. With the bloodthirsty part, anyway. He was a killer. But their lives went on, the war continued, rice still needed to be cooked and the mending done.

He was obliging, he was cute, he was weird. And he was alone. She had seen it; she had even made discreet inquires of the other serving girls. He, apparently, had no one.

He also avoided the red-light district like the plague, except when a target was there, which was a point in his favor no matter what the other girls speculated.

A lonely little boy, almost grown. A young man without anyone.

He was curled up in his room now, sleeping against the wall as was his wont, sword leaning against his shoulder. He needed covering from the sun, and if he stayed asleep until evening he would need the warmth. She draped her shawl around his shoulders.

She was startled when he shot awake, nearly beheading her before he caught himself. He fell to frantic muttered apologies.

He was a killer. But he was a pure-hearted, sweet young man. She swallowed, uneasy.

"Let me stay with you," she breathed deep, "let me stand with you, and hold back the madness."

* * *

(Originally posted third)

So once upon a time this had info about where the chapters fell in the story timeline; but as I'm reordering the chapters it was all null and void. Also I didn't stop at part four.


	5. Practice Makes Perfect

It was early morning, just before the late summer sunrise, and he needed to hurry - he was determined to return before his wife and brother-in-law woke. They didn't need to know about this, it would only bring unnecessary worry. They were finally relaxing here, in Otsu, and he would not take that away.

Silently stepping outside, he slowly slid the door shut. Satisfied he hadn't woken anyone, he quickly headed toward the cursed binding forest, senses alert. The mist swirled around his passing in the pre-dawn light.

"_This is not an ordinary forest! With its magnetic fields so corrupted, more twisted than Fuji's forests, the 'Sixth Sense' of great swordsmen is no use to you! Only those who have trained here can use their extra perceptions properly! You cannot fight us at full strength!"_

After moving here, the memories were always at the back of his mind, constant reminders of his failure. But circumstances could be changed. Were already changed. That failure would not happen.

Shaking his head, Kenshin raised a hand to his temple, trying to rub the impending headache away. His left hand stayed at his side, curling around his sword, reassuring him it was still there. He couldn't bear the thought of going near that forest improperly armed.

The first trees came into view, and he hastened toward them. The lack of noise was unnerving; though he knew animals would not dwell within this twisted place, it was always disconcerting to step into such a silence among living things.

His foot fell on a branch as he walked between the trees, the cracking noise it produced a sharp contrast to the quiet. He glanced around as he kicked it away. No one was present, as expected.

Settling himself in a clear area, he began his weekly practice of adapting to the magnetic fields. Meditating, he tried to sense the differences between this location and the outer world. Then, slowly, he attempted to sense the small creatures that scampered near the forest. It was confusing, and after a few semi-successful attempts he lost focus entirely.

Giving it up for the time being, he stood, walking farther in toward a larger space that was perfect for kata. It wasn't far; soon enough he arrived, and stood in the middle of the clearing. Lowering his head, he took several moments to center himself.

Enishi. A young, mostly innocent boy, only looking to take care of his beloved elder sister. Tomoe, mourning one lover and falling for another, manipulated by outside forces and undeserving of her pain. Killed because he didn't expect her actions, or the ninja's.

He had been taken by surprise before and it would not happen again. He would defend them. He would not fail them and this time, he would see his family safe.

Sliding into the first stance, he began.

* * *

(Originally posted sixth)

... "It's not a Writer's _Block_, it's a whole freaking Bastion!"

_Writer's Bastion, n.: a phenomenon wherein creativity is stopped by life sucking immensely, i.e., existence places a fortification around the creative center of the brain and defends its position to the death. Preferably yours._

Pre-'Trees,' post chapter six.


	6. Trees

Free. At. Last!

Enishi smiled, just a little, as he strode along the path. He loved his 'nee-san, so very much, but he was very tired of staying indoors. It wasn't a big deal that a falling tree branch had hit him; yes, alright, it had really hurt, and he had been dizzy for a day, but ... so many long days indoors where that man worked was torture. So outside was good.

Almost passing a tree, he stopped. Reaching up, he grabbed a limb, and scrambled into the branches. The view of the surrounding countryside was pretty; Enishi even appreciated it, in a detached way. Nothing was as pretty as his 'nee-san.

It was a typical brisk and boring autumn day - nothing and no one interesting was in sight. He scrambled back down. Dropping from the lowest branch, he felt his right foot slip under him as he landed. He splayed on the ground, his ankle sending sharp pains through his leg. Enishi scowled furiously, holding in tears, and pushed himself up. He managed to sit himself against the tree, almost blacking out as he did so; he refused to try standing. There was nothing to do but wait until he was found.

About an hour and a half later, his head turned to look up the path as he heard the pattering of feet. That man was coming. He scowled.

That man stopped in front of him, and looked at his foot, at the tree, at his face. "I don't think the trees here agree with you," the annoying redhead said finally. Enishi scowled even more fiercely. The man sighed. He then knelt, and extended a hand to help Enishi get on his back.

Enishi didn't want that man's help. He didn't move. After a few moments of stillness, the redhead calmly asked, "You are able to walk, then?" Enishi growled at him, mentally admitting he couldn't, and he yanked on the man's hand as he leaned forward to crawl onto the man's back.

Reaching, the man picked up Enishi's ignored sandal and handed it to him. The man then stood, settled Enishi, and walked back toward their house. Enishi sat stiffly, wishing the humiliating and degrading experience was already over.

Back at the house, the redhead bandaged his ankle, taking care to wrap it tightly. When the man finished and began to prepare tea, Enishi awkwardly maneuvered onto his good foot, hopped to the door and went outside. He would be stuck inside more, and anyway he really wanted to wait for 'nee-san. The man came outside, carrying a cup of tea and a blanket. Without a word, he handed them both to Enishi. Enishi blinked, but wrapped up as the man sat beside him. They both leaned against the wall to wait.

Enishi's eyes slid shut. He was only going to rest them for a little while ... just while he was waiting ...

When Tomoe returned from her visit to one of the town ladies, she found her brother sleeping on her tired husband's shoulder. It was a sign of hope. It was absolutely precious.

* * *

(Originally posted fifth)

I thought I was done with these, but guess not. Consider this an apology for being behind on the next chapter, but sadly real life has to come first for a little while longer. This one takes place a little while before the start of chapter 7. Oh, and my email service crashed and will be down for a while, I now have a hotmail account, username peacebunnie. Sorry anyone whose emails I haven't been able to get, as planet-save has lost everything. :(


	7. Final Note

Katsura, overworked and exhausted, walked towards his room. Raising a hand, he irritably brushed a loose strand of hair from his face. He had been overseeing the upheaval after Toba Fushimi - all the deals, assignments and organization needed for the new government - for the last few days, and now he finally had a chance to return to Kyoto and rest.

At the end of the hall, he slid open the shoji to his room and stepped inside, gratefully noting the Okami had already left him a warm meal. Sliding the shoji shut, he turned and crossed the room to sit and partake.

Partway there, he noticed a letter, one corner visible beside the meal tray. Worried that yet another urgent problem had cropped up, he hurried his pace and bent to pick it up. Several coins fell off and clattered to the ground, and he looked at them, confused as to their presence. He sought an explanation from the obvious source.

Unfolding the paper, he scanned the first lines.

'Katsura-san, I know this is late in coming, but I owe you an explanation in regards to certain actions though I do not directly recall my reasons ...'

The handsome politician blinked, recognizing Himura's unique brush work. He read on.

'You have asked me to tell you what I was hiding, someday; and today has become that 'someday.' Before Tomoe arrived at our inn, before the scar on my face, I had a dream. Perhaps it is better said a vision of sorts ...'

Startled, expression remaining impassive only through years of practice, he read the letter with a growing sense of disbelief, and fear for Himura. The letter held what seemed the tale of a madman, but the young man was the only hitokiri they'd considered sane. There had been no reason to think otherwise, until now. If this letter came to light it would cast doubt on him, and his former compatriots would use everything they had to eliminate the perceived threat.

Katsura wouldn't do that to Himura or his wife, not after what they'd gone through. He would burn the paper after reading and pray it was the right decision.

Katsura quickly finished the letter, and sighed. Just as he wondered where he could burn it, something caught his eye.

To the side of the body of the letter, another note was written with small characters, and he brought the paper closer to read it.

'I have been remiss in replacing sake I owe the Okami of Kohagi inn. If you would, please use the coins to purchase some for her.'

As he stared at the coins on the floor, Himura's note still in hand, he could think only one thing.

'Over five years of hard work and you ask me to buy a drink for someone else. Himura ...'

* * *

(Originally posted seventh - wait, I think it still is!)

Bet you thought the sake or Katsura's request would never be acknowledged again, didn't you. Ha!

I had to take a few artistic liberties with Katsura's location at that time. I couldn't find anything where I was looking. If anyone does know where he was then, by all means, do tell.


	8. Father And Mother

Bending down, Kenshin reached for the next freshly-washed gi, then straightened to hang it out to dry. Pretending not to notice the looks the boy was shooting at him every few seconds, he reached for the next few garments.

As he straightened the laundry he could hear Yahiko shifting on the engawa, and wondered what it was that had the child so hesitant. He'd hoped Yahiko would have felt more at ease after half a year of living with them, but apparently not.

After draping one last item (the obi to Airisu's only kimono; the adorable and precocious girl preferred running around in gi and monpei), he turned to face Yahiko directly.

"Is it such a difficult topic, that troubles you?"

Yahiko turned red. "Wh-what? No! Uh-" The verbal stumble came to a halt, Yahiko staring at his hands and pinching the fabric of his hakama. Eyebrow raised, Kenshin crossed the yard to sit near his ward.

Yahiko glanced at him again, then stilled his hands. "Kenshin-san," Yahiko said quietly.

Kenshin-san? Oh. Well, he knew what Yahiko was troubled by, now.

"Is it really alright to call you 'Father'?"

The boy knew they were fine with him doing so. When Kenshin had said they'd take in him and his mother, they had done so; when they discovered his mother wasn't long for the world, she was able to die knowing he would be taken care of, and here the boy still was; when they told Yahiko he could refer to them as parents, he knew they meant what they said.

But it wasn't Kenshin's permission he wanted.

"Yes, Yahiko - it is." Kenshin smiled.

"Hm." The boy looked down at his hands again.

Kenshin sighed inwardly. How best to approach this?

"You know, I'm quite jealous of you, Yahiko."

The boy's head whipped up. "What?"

Kenshin smiled down at him. "You have four parents that love you very much, even though two of them cannot be with you now. I only had two parents, and barely remember the few years spent with them."

Yahiko was frozen, staring into the distance as he listened.

"There were some I was fond of, but until Tomoe and you and Airisu and Sasuke I didn't have family. And now that I do, I hope my parents are happy that I am am happy, even though they cannot see it themselves."

"... Airisu and Sasuke are happy," Yahiko ventured uncertainly, "and Yukishiro-san is pleased."

"Yes, he does love to spoil his grandchildren so." Kenshin laughed. "He's always glad to visit and see them smiling."

Yahiko looked down, mulling over the conversation. Kenshin patted his shoulder, and moved to stand.

"Can we find some flowers for Mother's grave tomorrow?" Still not looking up, Yahiko fidgeted where he sat. "She – she really liked those yellow ones."

Kenshin smiled at him. "Of course, Yahiko. We can all go looking before dinner." Standing, Kenshin went to put away the laundry bucket.

Behind him, Yahiko whispered, "... Thanks, Dad."

* * *

(Chapters have been reordered chronologically; this one and the last chapter are, actually, already in their place)

So we're at the second to last one - the real last one this time - and it's set around ... early Fall 1877, maybe?


	9. Keeping Clean

Cloth to the floor, Airisu ran down the hall, her cleaning as energetic as everything else she did. A good and bad thing, that: she or her brothers were often sent over to work off a punishment, as her parents were very particular and cleaned their own home themselves. And with the way those children caused mayhem, Kaoru had hardly cleaned in months.

A quick turn at the far end, and now Airisu was passing by again - but from this side, the furrowed brow was obvious.

"Airisu-chan?"

Airisu stopped, and stood, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. "Yes, Kamiya-sensei?"

Kaoru stepped out into the hall, leaving her bedroom door open. "What's wrong? You look upset."

Airisu hesitated - and wasn't that unlike her? The eldest of the Himura children was always bright, confident, and eager to learn; marking her as one of several likely future masters of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu. What was unsettling her?

"Is everything alright?" For all their squabbles, the Himura children rarely hurt each other's feelings, but there was always the possibility.

"Father's worried," Airisu finally blurted.

Confused, Kaoru tilted her head. "About what?"

Airisu shook her head, chin low, her bangs and the end of her high ponytail brushing her face. "Things at work, but we're not supposed to know. Father says to be careful," here she hesitated again, then confided, "He even started wearing his katana instead of his sakabatou."

Eyes going wide, Kaoru straightened, utterly shocked. If someone that good with a reverse blade felt the need for a katana's faster draw ... well. It said a lot about possible opponents. "Did he say anything else?"

Airisu started tugging the cloth in her hands. "Just - not to go out a lot. And he's thinking about asking if we can stay here for a little while."

Kaoru was shocked all over again. "He wants to stay here?"

Airisu shook her head, briefly. "No, I think just mother and me and Sasuke and Yahiko. But I don't know why he wants us here."

It wasn't too hard to recognize why, Kaoru thought. If you feared your family's safety, where better to have them than surrounded by those who practiced fighting for a living. Though a lack of officers on protection duty implied no one was available to guard the family, so what was keeping every officer in the city that busy?

"Father just says it might be better if we weren't home when he goes to Kyoto."

"Kyoto?"

"Yes, a - a visitor said he should go."

The stutter did not go unnoticed, and Kaoru wondered if their visitor had something to do with the rumors of Okubo-sama being seen in town. This was worrisome; Himura-san being called to leave for Kyoto, of all places, and carrying his katana.

Likely best just to ask what to prepare for, and start moving the family here quietly. Considering Himura-san's assignments, they probably couldn't know more than that. And there was no way she was going to leave her students in need and unprotected.

Kaoru smiled at Airisu, attempting to calm her. "Of course you can all stay here, why wouldn't I look out for three of my students? Can I visit this evening when you go home?"

Relieved, Airisu nodded, and Kaoru gestured toward the floor with a small smile. "As soon as that's done, we can go." Sheepishly, Airisu hurriedly resumed cleaning, while Kaoru stepped back into her room, mentally listing the actions she needed to take. She had to speak with the Himuras, and plan when and how they would move in. Of course, that meant she'd have to pull the spare futons out of storage, and clean out the extra room.

Come to think of it, tomorrow she'd have Sasuke to help her do so.

* * *

This is set around - March 1878-ish. Y'know, down the line I could see Yahiko becoming a policeman, Sasuke ending up as part of the Oniwabanshu, and Airisu not quite meeting her goal of mastering every sword style in Tokyo but instead teaching Kamiya Kasshin Ryu.

I posted two of these at once, so if you clicked that little last chapter link thing, you missed one. Well, now it's the last one; it's been fun, but I am DONE. :)


End file.
